


Five Hundred or So Hours

by Klioud



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Game's Ending, Gen, POV Second Person, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klioud/pseuds/Klioud
Summary: OG Ending. Contains Major Spoilers.Neku plays one last game.It is all too much. These three weeks of— hell does not describe it. Nothing describes it: this medley of raw terror and euphoria. Of vulnerability you once wished would remain an impossibility.Now he puts the instrument of your own destruction— your deconstruction, recreation, yourrebirth—  in your hands.





	Five Hundred or So Hours

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to celebrate the upcoming international release of TWEWY: Final Remix. I played the DS version when I was fourteen years old. Almost ten years later, it's still one of my absolute favourites. Even after all this time, the characters and the story mean so much me.

He is the one who killed you. 

It is all too much. These three weeks of— hell does not describe it. Nothing describes it: this medley of raw terror and euphoria. Of vulnerability you once wished would remain an impossibility.

Now he puts the instrument of your own destruction— your deconstruction, recreation, your _rebirth_ — in your hands. 

One final game. Winner takes all.

He is the one who killed you.

Betrayal cuts deeply. Never before have you experienced pain like this. Three weeks ago, you would never have given anybody the opportunity.

It is painfully obvious that who you were three weeks ago is long dead.

Everyone you have come to love is on the line. You might have only known them for three weeks or less, but these five hundred or so hours are worth more than the fifteen years and who-knows-how-many days you spent without them. Their futures catch as the dim lights do on the steel in your hands. 

You close your fingers around the gun. Point it at him. Your finger is just a millimetre away from pulling the trigger. 

You cannot close the distance.

Three weeks— the greatest of your short existence— weigh on you. Weigh down on your wrists.

You drop the gun.

He fires anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time!


End file.
